


Not meant to be

by StarOverHeaven



Series: Sorry Doesn't Say It [1]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: S1E19: Rock Bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-07
Updated: 2019-02-07
Packaged: 2019-10-23 20:09:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17690087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarOverHeaven/pseuds/StarOverHeaven
Summary: Starscream never even gets the chance to leave that mine.





	Not meant to be

Perhaps he should have expected this. 

At least Megatron had mercy; a quick blast to the processor or the Spark was easy, quick, practically painless. It figured that the autobots cared little for that. His frame was not designed for this; he was designed for deep scanning, flying through space. Once, he had done so at the side of a valued friend; one of many lost to him now. 

The weight is quick to begin to draw out his death. Not long after the Autobots begin to leave, he laughs. It is a broken, glitched noise. It echoes ominously in the crumbled remains of the mine, and he briefly hears the footsteps slow before they regain their pace. 

If he was going to be extinguished here, he would make them _feel guilty for it,_ even if he knew that regardless they would never feel guilty; they would only feel relief for offing Megatron's second in command. 

He laughed. Then, the shriek of metal as his leg gave in echoed, and he collapsed, laughter dying as the rock bore down on him. His wings bent with the strain as his arms struggled with the weight. The welds Knockout had so diligently pieced him together with began to groan ominously. 

This was the worst sort of end. To be buried in this place, deep where Primus could not collect his spark from where it soared the winds. Seekers were meant to fly; meant to die below the sky. They _ached_ for the suns of any galaxy to warm their systems, to feel the air brush against sensitive sensors as they raced the stars. 

To die in this place… He would never know peace. His spark would forever be buried here, trapped amongst the stones, suspended in a body that would rot away, never to be found, on this planet that was not even his home. 

Washer fluid dripped from his optics as he struggled for a moment. Not only with the weight which bore down upon him, eager to crush him under it, but with his own mind. 

Did he want to feel himself become nothing more than dust? Did he want to feel the strain of his plates as the weight of this foreign world swallowed him as an offering, like so many before him. Oh, he was not the first and likely not the last to extinguish on a planet that was not his own; to be ended on a place he should never have had to die upon. 

One piece of him said that he should stay online. To suffer for sins he knew and regret, the ones that haunted his spark and cracked his spark chamber. The ones that had him reaching down a trine bond to receive no response, desperate and dying. His resignation bled from him like the energon that flowed through his veins. 

_Sorry._

Starscream felt his spark ease, but only slightly. He had so many people to apologize to. Knockout, Thundercracker, Skywarp, Skyfire; the many Seekers he had lost in this fruitful, foolish war, the same one he lost Vos to. All for what? 

But he knew the answer to that stupid question. All for the cause he had joined for in the first place. The equality that would guarantee he would never see a starving sparkling. The equality that would have insured that he never saw the enslaved work themselves to death in the mines. 

His hope for his own servos to sink their tips into this equality had led him astray. Everything went so wrong. The world should have been perfect; a Cybertron where none starved and none were without a work they could enjoy. One where he could fly above and be joined by those who were overjoyed at what they'd done. 

Now, all he had was a planet ruined by war, a nearly-dead god that Starscream knew would never forgive what they had done. For all their suffering, Primus had suffered more. Dying at the hands of his creations, now most likely gone. Cybertron was dead, and with it Primus had likely died with it. 

They all suffered for it; for all that they had risked, all they had tried, it was for nothing. If anything, the situation had only become worse. Once, Vosians had been well-fueled and Starscream had never felt anything less than nearly full. Now, he had the look of the half-starved, like all those who followed Megatron; the rations that made him _ache_ for how everything used to be. 

It had been unfair, but at least their population wasn't a tenth of a percent of what it used to be back then. Even if they survived, all of Seeker kind had likely been extinguished with exceptions hidden in pockets of space, far from his reach. Vos would never be the same. This only reminded him of what he had lost. Of what he little had left. 

The scars of the heavy servos Megatron had laid on him; the permanence of _nothing_ that his trine bond was now. Welds that had held him together put together by a Medic trained by war to pull apart the extinguished out of desperation for parts, who had been trained to do battle and cause harm instead of heal. 

Death, Starscream thought, had a way of putting things into perspective. To all the mechs left, his loss would likely be a relief; the end of an annoyance for Megatron, and one less skilled mecha to fight on the battlefield to the autobots. 

They had lost so much. Starscream had sacrificed so much of himself; so much of others. He had lost his trine. His flight, many times regained and lost, many times to Megatron himself. He had lost his home; his planet and his city. The entirety of his flock lay dead, their sparks no doubt endlessly searching for relief. So many of his Seekers had extinguished where they could not see the sky; where Primus could never find them to give them relief. 

True irony had never been closer to spark. Despite himself, his vocalizer choked out a glitchy laugh, made wet with optic fluid that poured down his face plates. 

Starscream was haunted by the dead. His memories fuzzed with age, but hindsight made them so, _so clear._ Pain ripped through his spark. Even if he did not die from these stones, he deserved to die where he could not see the sky. He was unworthy of the relief Primus may choose to grant him. 

So he took the choice away. He refused to leave his spark to a sorrowful, half-dead god to take pity on. He deserved nothing of the sort. 

Stasis was easy, a permanent solution even should he not be extinguished. He dropped one arm, crying out as the weight got worse. He locked his servos with the tips to his own chest, determined. The flickering of warnings clouded his optics, and he closed them halfway as the stasis began to droop him lower. Then, he was gone. A coma that none but another could wake him from, even should he survive. He doubted his own survival, but his own servos would finish the job. 

The mine collapsed onto him further, halted only by the edges of the stone edges and grooves, bending him further down into a fetal huddle. But that was all he needed. 

His Spark lived up to his name in the end, and though the pain was distant, he felt every last second before there was only silence. 

In the absence, there was only the lightest tinkling of glass as his chest plates, no longer held closed, bent just enough. Spark-glass from his most vital piece clinked on lax servos below, optics dark as energon dripped, still glowing, around the edges of the wound, before stilling as it hardened, blocking the flow of the wounds. 

His body survived, for the most part- but a frame was nothing more than a shell without the very being of who it used to be. 

Preserved in a capsule of stone, Starscream's voice finally went quiet. 


End file.
